"Boy, do I hate being right all the time" | accepting for ~ @onstarfleek from McCoy
Freezing rain, mud and the stench of burning. An asteroid about the size of New York City touched down in water, the ocean half of a small class M planet in a twin star system too close to a chaotic nebula for comfort. Global tsunami. Lava rain. The refugees in this camp are what's left and they're barely holding on.
Faith's only got on-the-fly combat training under her belt, trying to help the away team's medical officers as best as she can but it's not enough. Cuts and bruises, broken bone... she can deal with that but whatever the hell kind of black rash is spreading through the muddy encampment of tents is something she's never seen. Bones has, though. She knows enough to know that if he's worried, she should be, too
. "Fun thing to be right about." she grunts, crouching beside a small campfire to ladel boiling water into a silver pan so she can wash and sterilize McCoy's instruments, "We're runnin' low on soap, too. Gonna make some lye, see if that'll do the trick." but the even the ash from the fire wood's muddy. She doesn't know how he does this on the regular without going nuts.
